CHAPTER XX. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. ” He said. ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. ” The money would be available in the afternoon, and she would send him four five-pound notes. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Oh, to face facts! Gods! what a world it might be if people faced facts! Understanding! Understanding! There is no other salvation. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. .
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